


The Effects of Choosing

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 02 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:52:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod can't put his finger on it; the atmosphere seems heavy around him. He doesn't know if it's the moment, the grief, or everything that has happened in the past few days. He's exhausted; he melts under her stare.</p><p> </p><p>Ichabod struggles with the events of the Season Two finale. [Obviously: SPOILERS.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Effects of Choosing

Ichabod stares at his hands.

They look foreign to even his eyes. He isn't entirely sure why, because nothing has changed- but alas, it has. He has killed before, but he has never killed someone so close to home. He has never killed someone he had cared so much about.

He can imagine the blood on his hands. He can feel the warmth of the vital life force ebbing away beneath his harsh fingers. He can feel a quickly slowing pulse beneath his hand as he tries, so much, to take back what had happened- but again, no. He had no intention of changing what had happened. Even if he could have...

"Crane?"

Ichabod startles out of his thoughts, looking across the table at Abbie. The look on her face hasn't gone away since the ordeal, although he is fairly certain that she is trying very hard not to let the pity show on her face. He mentally thanks her for that; he smiles wearily. "I'm sorry, my mind was elsewhere."

Abbie sighs softly. Ichabod feels something ramp up in his blood, to pulse through his veins, at the sound of the breath leaving the Lieutenant's lips, for he can anticipate what is bound to happen. Miss Mills will attempt to give him a lecture. He knows her well enough that he does know that she will. He knows that she can't let him go on like this any longer; her patience has worn thin as his own nerves have, too.

"Crane, look, nothing I say is going to make this better."

Ichabod interrupts before he can stop himself. "No," he agrees, and then cringes for his own outspoken behaviour. "Forgive me-"

Abbie waves it off. "Don't apologise to me."

Ichabod resists the urge to sigh as he folds his hands on the table top. "Who would you have me apologise to, Lieutenant?"

Abbie raises her eyebrows.

This time, the sigh slides through unbidden. "I am fine." When Abbie proceeds to lean slightly forward to prop her elbows on the table, the look on her face only gaining more intention, Ichabod leans back. "I will be fine," he amends, and tries not to look around the cabin.

It's instinct; he looks for Katrina. He has lived with her for years, never-mind if they were seperated for a few hundred years in the meantime. She has been a presence in his life for many beautiful years, years that seemed to have been stretched longer by the trials of war. Even after rescuing her from Purgatory, she had returned to his home, in this world away from their world. All had been right... until, as the modern vernacular went, the other shoe had dropped.

"I know you don't want to hear it," Abbie says quietly, prodding at her Thai with the flimsy plastic fork, "I know you don't want to hear anything like it, and God knows I am _not_ the best advocate for sharing and caring, but... you don't have to be okay. You don't have to rationalise it all at once, Crane."

It's funny, Ichabod thinks without humour, how Abbie won't meet his gaze when he says that. He admires her for her strength. She always seems to hang onto the barest thread of sanity and retain strength. He wishes to take inspiration from her on such a front.

"It was my decision," Ichabod says after a moment, pushing the styrofoam bowl of soup away. "I made my decision. I made my choice. As they say, I've made my bed and now I shall lay in it."

"And you can say that 'til the cows come home, but it doesn't mean a damn thing if you don't believe it."

Ichabod stops, half risen to his feet. He hesitates; it's opening a can of worms that he doesn't want to open. Abbie meets his gaze now, and he sinks back into his chair. "I do believe it," he says quietly. "I do. I might not... be okay, for- for awhile, even. But, I made my choice. Abbie."

Abbie looks at him from across the table evenly. The look in her gaze is... indescribable. Ichabod can't put his finger on it; the atmosphere seems heavy around him. He doesn't know if it's the moment, the grief, or everything that has happened in the past few days. He's exhausted; he melts under her stare.

"She had to be stopped," he says slowly. Embarrassingly enough, his tone wavers and the words wobble. The raw emotion terrifies him, threatening to topple him into an abyss that he's not confident he will be able to claw his way out from.

"I'm sorry."

Abbie's voice is quiet. Ichabod almost misses it over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. He stares down at the table and frowns for a lack of any other emotion he wishes to express.

"It is not your fault," he replies. It's implied, surely, but it's important to say while they're on the topic. He hasn't said it; Abbie hasn't brought it up. But, if the positions were reversed and he were on the other side of this ordeal, he was fairly positive that he would not be without regret himself. He doesn't want Abbie to have to feel that. "It's not your fault."

"It's not your fault, either, you know."

Ichabod isn't aware that Abbie had gotten up until too late; one moment, he was staring at her from across the table, the next, her arms are around him as he's subjected to a hug that may have been forthcoming from the very start.

That doesn't meant that it startles him any less.

"Abbie," he starts, floundering for words that won't come. From this angle, his head is angled into the place where her neck meets her collarbone, a position otherwise impossible given their usual height difference. "Abbie." The pull of warmth and the touch of companionship urges him to nestle his face into her skin, to breathe in her scent if for only the sake of reminding himself that _I still have someone here, Abigail is still here_. "Abbie..."

He gives up, gives in. He tucks his face into her skin and hauls heavy arms up to loop around her back, holding her close.

"I am so, so sorry." Abbie's voice is quiet. "I know it doesn't help for anything, but I am." She doesn't move. Her presence is, as always, unyielding.

He is infinitely grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, Sleepy Hollow is back, my friends. Now we need a renewal. #RenewSleepyHollow (I got a Twitter specifically because of SH and now I just want to put hashtags on everything that doesn't even use hashtags. xD)
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to write a little of a character studyish type thing for Ichabod, and there's _plenty_ more to come, in terms of fanfic, if I can get my brain and fingers working in time with each other. There's so much fodder from the finale, and I loved it loved it loved it.
> 
> As always, I do not own _Sleepy Hollow_. Thanks for reading!


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